


Five Hard Truths (plus an easy one)

by onlyacoffee



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Aromantic Character, Five Times + 1, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Modern AU, Sick Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-01
Updated: 2015-06-01
Packaged: 2018-04-02 07:01:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,580
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4050655
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/pseuds/onlyacoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five times were Feuilly and Courfeyrac had to face a hard truth and/or the fact that they are both terrible liars (and one time where the truth was surprisingly easy to tell)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Five Hard Truths (plus an easy one)

**1**.

Feuilly was _not_ okay.

He felt weak, and dizzy - hot and cold at the same time, and like a hundred bees were flying around in his head, making the worst possible buzzing racket.

To be honest, he just wanted to go home and hide forever.

But it was a party - and it was important, too, celebrating Combeferre finishing med school, and he didn’t want to spoil eveyone’s fun -

\- but he honestly, truly felt awful. He might even thown up, and he hadn’t even touched a drop of alchool. He’d just sat there in a corner, attempting to smile convincingly enough whenever someone looked his way - or blend in with the walls, which he might be doing anyway, with how pale he was. There were too many people, people Feuilly didn’t know, Combeferre’s friends from the hospital, from his huge family, patients - almost every single one of his professors and classmates and undergrad buddies, and Feuilly was glad Combeferre had so many people supporting him - the guy worked so hard, he deserved it - and normally Feuilly would have been alright for at least a few hours, but it had been a long, exhausting week for him and it was just too overwhelming for Feuilly to be here right now -

“Hey, you okay?”

Feuilly nearly jumped out of his skin; he was so focused on trying to stay upright that he hadn’t noticed Courfeyrac walking towards him.

“Y-yeah, sure,” he smiled, trying to calm his breathing. His heart was doing somersaults in his chest - every single one of his ribs felt bruised.

“No you’re not,” Courfeyrac frowned, “What the fell, Feuilly - you look like you’re about to pass out!”

“Shh!” Feuilly hissed. From a few meters away, Bahorel turned from his discussion with two of Combeferre’s cousins and shoot them a concerned glance. “I don’t want anyone to notice, alright? This is an important night, and -”

“Bullshit,” Courfeyrac didn’t seemed impressed.  _Shit_ , it was this obvious, wasn’t it? “Combeferre’ll be pissed at you for coming here in the state you are.”

“Please don’t tell him,” Feuily resisted the urge to hit his head against the wall in frustration. “I’ll - go see him, shake his hand, then - leave when it’s late enough to not be unpolite -”

“No,” Coufeyrac grabbed his arm and gently but firmly pulled Feuilly up, “We’ll go see him now, tell him you’re unwell, and I’m taking you home to  _rest_.”

“But -”

“No but. Come on, you.”

 

 **2**.

Courfeyrac ran a hand through his hair, and pressed his palm to his eye.  _Shit_. He couldn’t bear to look at Feuilly, huddled on the other end of the couch, his arms wrapped around his knees, shoulders shaking.

 _Fucking shit,_  that was such a - a  _him_  thing to say. Pure Courfeyrac, messing up by blurting out everything all  _wrong_  at the worst  _possible_  time -

“I’m sorry,” Feuilly was saying, and crap, his voice sounded all chocked up and all Courfeyrac wanted to do was slide over and hold him.

“No, no, please don’t - I’m the one who should be sorry, I should have told you earlier -”

“ _No_ ,” Feuilly’s head snapped up, suddenly fierce, and while his eyes were slightly red-rimmed, they were completely dry. “You have absolutely  _nothing_  to apologize for, Courfeyrac. If anything, I should be the one apologizing for not understanding before.”

“You couldn’t have! Not when I didn’t say a word about it before and - It’s not that I don’t like you,” Courfeyrac groaned, because  _God_ , this was what he feared - he thought it would be feel  _natural_ , that if he liked Feuilly enough - which he did - his feelings towards  _relationships_  would somehow change. But they hadn’t - they wouldn’t, he realised now.

But he really did like Feuilly a lot. He just wished he had the right words to express it.

“I know,” Feuilly said softly, and there was no pity in his tone. Only love, and caring, and Courfeyrac’s eyes floded with tears.

“Please don’t be angry?”

“I could never be angry at you for this,” Feuilly shook his head. “I - can I hug you?”

Courfeyrac nodded, and Feuilly moved over to his side of the couch and gently wrapped in arms around Courfeyrac’s shoulders.

“So you don’t do romantic relationships,” Feuilly said. “That’s okay, Courf. Really. I’m glad you told me now.”

“I’d have told you earlier - before we started this, whatever we are. But I hadn’t even known myself. Nobody ever said a thing about aromanticism in sex ed in school,” Coufeyrac laughed bitterly.

“One day,” Feuilly said, and he sounded so  _sure_. “One day every kid will know that it’s okay to be who they are.”

Courfeyrac wanted to respond, but he couldn’t. He sniffed, nodding weakly.

“It’s okay,” Feuilly repeated. He kissed Courfeyrac’s head, and that was good, that was - more than good. Feuilly was a very affectionate person, Courfeyrac knew this, and he loved this about him. A kiss, a hug, sharing a bed, sex - Courfeyrac was more than okay with this.

He just hoped Feuilly would be fine with  _only_  this. Whatever it was.

 

**3.**

“What do you think?” Feuilly beamed. He’d been practicing, really - and maybe cooking had never been his forte - baking even less - but this time he’d nailed it. Or he thought he had, from the proud look on his face.

It broke Courfeyrac’s heart - because this? was a terrible cookie. Honestly, Courfeyrac had just nearly broken a tooth over it.

But if he lied, then Feuilly would bring them to the others - and the tragedy of Feuilly’s terrible cookies would be that much worse. Plus, he’d be pissed at Courfeyrac for lying to him.

But Feuilly’s smile was so eager and cute and oh,  _god_.

Courfeyrac’s heart  _bled_  for what he was about to do. But Feuilly would thank him later. It was for the greater good.

“How - how about we find another recipe, uh? This time maybe with less -  _cement_  in it. Oh crap -”

 

 **4**.

There was just no way this could work.

Feuilly had looked at everything; loans, of course, though he loathed the idea. Another job, maybe. But he already had two, and his classes, and the group. But with these unexpected medical bills, plus his landlord raising his rent by this much - Feuilly knew fully and completely that this was a a ploy to get him and the other residents - most much worse off than him - to leave so the block could be rezoned and remodeled into condos none of them could afford. Investors had paid his landlord too much money - more than he ever made in rend - and the old man could finally retire quickly. Feuilly couldn’t blame his landlord himself - but no matter how much he or any of them of the other tennants sacrificed, this was a battle already lost.

He looked around him, at his little one-room apartment. He had moved in here three years ago, his first apartment by himself - without Montparnasse and the other weird roommates he’d found that came and went at every hour of the night. The crooked walls, the large windows in the living room, the wooden doorways, the tiny kitchen, the drafty bathroom. The walls of his bedroom, filled with maps.

He’d loved this apartment and everything it represented to him.

 _Sacrifices_. 

Life was full of choices - and most of them involved sacrifices. This time, it seemed like his apartment have to be one.

He knew Courfeyrac woulld welcome him with open arms. He’s suggested they moved together months ago, when they first started - whatever their relationship was. Feuilly had refused, saying he loved his space, and he needed it. It was the truth, and would always be. But. Sacrifices.

 _This will be temporary_ , he promised himself as he grabbed his phone and dialed Courfeyrac’s number _. It_ will _get better_. 

 

 **5**.

“So.”

“So,” Feuilly attempted to smile winningly, but the corner of his mouth shook, his eyebrows knitted together, and he felt his face flush. The little bundle in his arms squirmed uncomfortably; Courfeyrac was starting at them both, fists on his hips, waiting for an explanation.

“I thought you said ‘no kittens’,” Courfeyrac said. “’They’re too excitable, Courf,’ you said. ‘We’re too busy. We can’t take care of a kitten.’”

“Uh, it’s. Uh. I wanted to surprise you?”

Courfeyrac’s face plainly told Feuilly that he didn’t believe him. _Crap_. Feuilly was a _terrible_ liar. The truth it would have to be, then.

“I found him outside, under the stairs. It was raining and he was all shivery - so I took him to the vet and turns out he’s a stray - I. I knew you’d make that face. I’m sorry,” Feuilly said - and he did mean it, but he wasn't about to abandon the kitten again. He raised it to Courfeyrac’s face. “See? I think he likes you. Don’t you like him?”

The kitten had started to lick at Courfeyrac’s nose, and the other student’s pout melted.

“Alright, but I get to name him.”

 

**+1.**

Courfeyrac said _it_ for the first time over breakfast.

“I love you, you know.”

Feuilly choked on his coffee.

“It’s true. Like, no romo,” Courfeyrac grinned, and Feuilly shook his head, unable to speak just yet. “But I do love you, with all my heart,” the words were surprisingly easy, light as air, blubbling up in his chest; Courfeyrac felt as if he could fly just from the happiness they spread in his chest.

“I love you too,” Feuilly replied, smiling just as brightly, and squeezed his hand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! as always, comments are appreciated, and you can always hit me up on tumblr @ [ravenclawfeuilly](http://ravenclawfeuilly.tumblr.com/)


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